Rooster

I heard a rooster crow at dawn today.
No urban sound—this lively chaunticleer
would be at home in some brave pioneer’s
new homestead yard. Perhaps he’d gone astray
in space or time. But I am pleased to say
that morning’s herald still dries nightmare’s tears
and sunlight washes out the darkness fears—
I hope that rooster will decide to stay.

Nostalgia, foolish yearning for some past,
some Golden Age imagined, never true?
You’ll call it so—and yet, amid the vast
cacophony of urban voices, none
could lift my heart and turn it towards the new
more than that rooster calling to the sun.